Coming Home
by SubliminalGiraffes
Summary: The Soviet Union has finally crumbled, leaving its victims to go home. Some return in joy, some in sorrow. Some in reality, some seeing a dream. But, they all return in their own ways. Mostly one-shots, maybe some multi-parters. Human names used.
1. Gilbert Beilschmidt to Berlin

**CHAPTER ONE**

When Gilbert stepped of the train in Berlin, he didn't know what to expect. For years he had been put behind the iron curtain, only knowing what was happening in the Soviet Union. For the past couple of years, Gilbert Beilschmidt, the awesome personification of Prussia, had stayed in the room he was given in the Soviet mansion, only coming out when absolutely necessary. Like to torment Elizabeta, the lame personification of Hungary, or to avoid punishment from his 'master' and work. Gott, how he hated calling Ivan, the son-of-a-bitch personification of Russia, 'master'.

Oh yes, he had tried to escape. They all had at least once. He, being the most awesome, had tried (and failed) to escape no less than twenty-seven times. But he always woke up back where he had started. Sometimes even further away from his ultimate goal then when he had started. Getting back to Berlin.

Now that he was actually in Berlin, the very place that he saw as a new heaven, he wasn't so sure. He was careful and cautious as his foot hit the pavement, because with one wrong step, and this dream would surely abandon him. He would wake up, back in Moscow, cold, hungry, and totally alone.

He scanned the train station. Even if this _was_ just a dream (an awesome dream, but a dream none the less), Ludwig would be here. Somewhere.

"GILBERT!"

Ah, there he was. Carefully turning right, Gilbert saw his little brother Ludwig Beilschmidt, the not-quite-as-awesome-as-he-was-but-still-pretty-badass personification of Germany. Standing beside him was Roderich Edelstein, the totally-not-at-all-awesome personification of Austria.

Gilbert took his time shuffling over to the two.

_One wrong step. One wrong step_. His mind chanted. _Back to Moscow. Back to Moscow_.

"Bruder, I missed you!" Ludwig called and flew into Gilbert's arms.

Gilbird, who had been sitting on Ludwig's head, flew around the two in excitement.

"Welcome back, Gilbert." Roderich greeted, with less enthusiasm as Ludwig, but just as sincere.

Gilbert simply nodded.

"Bruder, what's wrong? You aren't saying anything. Are you ill?" Ludwig asked.

Gilbert shook his head. Oh, how he wanted to say something. But his dreams always faded when he opened up his mouth.

_One wrong step_.

"Ludwig, he's probably tired. Let's return home. We can talk more there." Roderich suggested.

_Back to Moscow._

**~HETALIA~TIMESKIP~HETALIA~**

The drive back to Ludwig's house had been a bit tense. While Gilbert hadn't said anything, Ludwig and Roderich were full of questions. But, due to some sort of miracle, they had respected Gilbert's unspoken wish for silence and stayed quiet. Parking his black truck, Ludwig broke the quiet atmosphere.

"Feliciano and Lovino are here. So are Francis and Antonio. We're all glad to have you home."

_But you're not home, are you?_ Said the voice in Gilbert's tormented head. _You're having a dream. You're really in Moscow, sleeping like a baby. A cold, hungry, depressed baby who's never going 'home' to Berlin. Moscow is your home, now and forever._

Going to auto-pilot, Gilbert let his feet blindly lead him to the living room. No funiture had been moved. Which was strange, because the funiture was always diffrent in his dreams. Which this was. A dream. He couldn't afford to be hopeful.

"WELCOME BACK, GILBERT!" Everyone in the room yelled. Even Lovino.

It was a nice gathering, unlike his usual dreams that included only one or two people. Right. It was a nice gathering, but still only a dream and nothing more.

_Dream. Dream. Dream. Dream. Dream._

The pasta and pizza provided by the Italians was delicious (a bit more rich than what he was used to, but still dreamly tasty) but weren't real. Greetings and contact that felt so real, but Gilbert knew better.

_Moscow. Moscow. Moscow. Moscow. Moscow._

Ludwig sat next to Gilbert on the couch, two beers in his hands..

"Bruder, are you sure that you're alright? You still haven't said anything."

Gilbert nodded.

"You do know where you are, don't you?"

"Moscow." Gilbert replied.

"What?" Ludwig asked in shock.

"This is a dream. I am in Moscow. None of you are real." Gilbert said.

"Nein. Nein, Gilbert. You are here in Berlin. Haus. You are HOME. Believe me. Please believe me." Ludwig pleaded.

Gilbert shook his head. "I don't want to, but I will wake up now. It was nice to see you again, West. Even if this is just a dream."

And with that, Gilbert passed out cold on the couch, a slight bit of German beer spiled on his jacket.

**~Hetalia~TIMESKIP~HETALIA~**

Gilbert stirred in the bed. The thick blankets... Wait a minute. He didn't have thick blankets. No, he had paper thin sheets. Wonderful things like warm blankets were a hope never to come true in the Soviet Union. Then why was he...

No way.

Opening his eyes, Gilbert saw that this wasn't his room. It wasn't any room in that damned mansion. It was Ludwig's bed. The German flag's black red and gold colors shining in the sun's morning light flooding in from the window.

"Bruder?" Ludwig asked, more pleaded, for his brother's attention.

Gilbert looked at his little brother, who was sitting in a chair beside the large bed.

"How was Moscow?"

"I'm not there anymore, am I?"

"Nein. Welcome home, Gilbert."

And for the first time in many, many years, Gilbert truely was home, safe with his little Bruder.


	2. Elizabeta Héderváry to Budapest

**CHAPTER TWO**

Two weeks after Gilbert had gone back to Berlin, Elizabeta was going to go home as well. Back to Budapest. Back to Roderich. Back to her own schedule. Back to everything she had once had taken away from her. It was all going to be her's again. Her mental list of things to do when she got home was fairly short.

**1- Get off of this God-forsaken train.**

**2- See Roderich.**

**3- Go home and take a shower.**

**4- Get into new clothes.**

**5- Sleep in my own warm bed.**

She smiled when the train came to a stop. Stepping onto the platform, Elizabeta Héderváry, the proud personification of Hungary, and looked around for Roderich Edelstein, the personification of Austria and the love of her life. If there was one thing she knew, it was that he'd been waiting for her.

Out of nowhere, the very man she'd been looking for found her. Sweeping her up into his arms, (something Roderich couldn't do before. She was currently much thinner than the last time they'd been together) Roderich started crying.

One and two were mentally checked off and Elizabeta started crying as well. No words were needed, they both knew what the other was thinking.

_I'm so glad to see you. It's been too long. I love you._

The two stayed like that for a short lived eternity.

Roderich slowly pulled away, nervousness in his dark blue eyes.

_Are you still the woman I loved?_ His eyes seemed to ask.

Elizabeta looked back with broken, but hopeful, green eyes.

_I'm still her._ Her eyes answered.

"I can't wait to go home." She said.

Roderich nodded.

"I need to ask you some things when we get home."

Elizabeta nodded this time.

"Of course. I'll answer them."

Well, there goes the list.

**~HETALIA~TIMESKIP~HETALIA~**

Roderich had wanted to jump into the questioning, but Elizabeta needed a shower and fresh clothing. While she took a shower, he busied his self with making a meal for the two of them.

'_She probably hasn't had anything to rich in awhile, jugging by the way I could feel her bones poking out when I picked her up. I'll just make some soup and tea. Does she still like tea? We haven't seen each other in so long, and she didn't have any way of communicating with me like Gilbert and Ludwig did. That stupid bird would always have a letter for Ludwig, but never for me.'_

Taking a deep breath, Roderich continued to cut the vegetables.

_'Gilbert probably wouldn't let her use that stupid bird. Right. That must be it. She probably wanted to send me letters, but couldn't. That must be it. It must be.'_

Elizabeta had just come back down when dinner was ready. Two bowls of simple chicken and vegetable soup, and two cups of green tea waited.

She smiled. "This is the most food I've seen in years. And I'm not the one who made it. Thank you."

Roderich nodded. "Of course. I just hope it isn't too rich and you get sick."

Elizabeta took a spoonful. "Even if I do get sick, it won't matter. This is worth it even if I do."

The two sat in a comfortable silence, just eating soup and drinking tea.

After dinner, Elizabeta rose to collect the dishes.

Roderich touched her arm. "Just leave them for now. I can get them later. I want to talk to you."

He led her over to a plush couch in the living room. Elizabeta barely sank into the soft forgiving cushions for there wasn't that much of her to sink with.

Roderich asked the question that was eating him alive.

"I was wondering, why didn't you send me any letters? I was left to worry about you for years with out any comfort in your hand writing telling me something. Anything."

Elizabeta sighed.

"You would have worried more. There wasn't a single good thing in that house. I was a maid for a psychopath. Gilbert stayed in isolation. Tino was in constant fear of everything. The Baltics took it the worst.

"Ivan seemed to get a kick from making poor Raivis squirm by making the boy sit near him at meals. Eduard's work on files is perfect one day, and then violently torn apart the next. And Toris was beaten almost everyday. We could all hear the screams.

"Little Raivis would come to me when Toris wasn't in the room with him and Eduard. I didn't send you letters because I couldn't think of any comfort I could manage to give you. All of my comfort was going to the other residents of that house.

"I wanted to talk to you, to see you, to tell you everything was fine, but I couldn't. I tried to run away. I tried my damn best. I'm so sorry that you worried. I truly am, but I'm still worried about the others. The scars on those three are awful."

Roderich sat there, mouth slightly open.

"I'm such an idiot."

"No. Your not an idiot. You were worried. I appreciate that. I wish I'd come back sooner."

"Do... Do you have scars?"

"...Yes. We all received some. They hurt a bit, and make leaning against something hard to do, but they will fade into little white marks."

"Is it alright if I see them?"

"Of course."

Elizabeta turned to show her back to Roderich, and pulled her shirt up to her shoulders reviling her back to the wide, unbelieving eyes of her boyfriend. What seemed like hundreds of deep red welts to Roderich (in reality were only forty or so) littered his only love's back.

Without thinking twice (or even once, for that matter), Roderich reached out and started to trace a large scar, one that reached from Elizabeta's lower left back to her right shoulder.

She winced at the contact, but soon felt herself ease back into the gesture. Years of pain and neglect came flooding to her eyes making tears, and for once, she had no reason to hold them back.

Roderich pulled down the shirt from Elizabeta's shoulder. Once her back was covered, he pulled her into his lap. The two were crying freely.

Elizabeta was crying because she was happy, hurt, scared, hopeful, sad, grateful, all at the same time.

Roderich was crying because he didn't know what else to do. But it was all okay. The two somehow got to their shared bedroom, or at least the room they used to share all those years ago. Before everything fell apart.

But, it didn't seem to matter. Number five was mentally checked off, and the two were together again, and that must count for something.


End file.
